I See You
by EmRosie
Summary: It's eighth year and Draco Malfoy is currently serving a detention cleaning the potions classroom... A horrendous punishment, for three reasons: Firstly, it was his first detention of the year, secondly, he couldn't use magic, and thirdly - Harry Potter. DM/HP. One shot, set post DH but prior to the epilogue.. Rated for some mature content.


**Summary:** It's eighth year and Draco Malfoy is currently serving a detention cleaning the potions classroom... A horrendous punishment, for three reasons: Firstly, it was his first detention of the year, secondly, he couldn't use magic, and thirdly - Harry Potter.

DM/HP one shot.

 **Warnings:** Mature content. Not too much - but its there.

 **Note:** To anyone who is on my alert list for "Grey Eyes" don't worry, I'm definitely still writing... I just got inspired for this one shot so had to write it!

Enjoy! :)

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 **I See You**

Draco Malfoy was currently serving a detention cleaning the potions classroom.

There were a number of things that made this detention particularly unbearable. Firstly, he'd managed to keep his toe on the line ever since returning to Hogwarts for the so called 'eighth year' offered to all students who's N.E. had been affected by the war. Saying Draco hadn't been keen to return was an understatement of enormous proportions, however, his mother had all but begged, pointing out (correctly, Draco knew, although didn't admit) that, with their name in the mud, reputation in tatters and their wealth almost completely wiped out, Draco would need to achieve nothing less than a completely straight set of O's in his N.E. to hope for any chance of decent employment. So, he had grudgingly returned to the castle and its haunting memories with his mother's warning to behave ringing in his ears - not that Draco needed telling. He wasn't stupid. He knew his usual routines of taunting first years would not do well for the new image he needed to build. Besides, to intimidate one needed to have power and respect, something that the majority of Slytherin house were now lacking. So, his first detention of the year was not only a failure for himself, but also for his mother. Draco gave an unpleasant shudder as he imagined the owl he would undoubtedly receive.

No - flobberworm mucus. _That_ was the reason for Draco's shudder. Bringing him nicely to the second reason on his mental list; the fact he was cleaning a potions classroom after a particularly nasty third year experiment _without magic_. Scrubbing at the cold stone floor like a common house elf.

A hacking cough brought Draco smoothly to the third, final and most infuriating reason for the horror of this detention; Harry Potter. Harry Potter, The Chosen One, Our Saviour, Dark Lord Vanquisher or whatever The Prophet was calling him these days. Not that Draco read those articles, of course, it was just that Potters face was so frequently emblazoned on the front page that it was hard to miss.

Harry Potter who Draco should _hate_. Not merely because of their long established school rivalry but because he was the reason that Draco was here. Not the reason for his detention - Draco had earned himself that when he'd spoken out against their new potions professor's particularly shoddy instructions for brewing Felix Felicis - but the reason he was _here_. The reason Draco was scrubbing floors without magic as his family's reputation lay in ruins. Potter had won and they had lost, so Draco should _despise_ him.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

With their return to Hogwarts, Draco had quickly realised that he had changed. He wasn't about to go around hugging muggle norms like Granger or offer blood traitors like Weasley a game of Wizard Chess; no, Draco still had his ideals. But he'd begun to like Potter. He didn't simper around corridors, following Potter from class to class, attempting to slip him love potion laced chocolates or notes like his little fan club. But he dreamed of him. He saw Potter when he closed his eyes, replaying the fateful night in his mind, never feeling fear because he knew it would be ok. Potter would appear and he would be safe.

It made Draco feel sick.

To make matters worse, it wasn't like Potter could be a quiet detention partner, allowing Draco to blank out his existence in the room and simply serve his time. No, he had to have that cough that just wouldn't stop, reminding Draco every few minutes that he was there, just feet away. He couldn't be like any normal wizard who would just go to the hospital wing to have it spelled away, or have some Pepper Up Pot-

Of course. Draco cursed himself for being so stupid. He stood, dropping his rag and brushing off his robes. He knew the later was useless, within moments of returning to his duty they'd be covered again and Draco seriously doubted that even with the strongest _Evanesco_ that his robes would be the same again. He ignored the way Potters gaze snapped up and followed him across the room; the acoustics of the empty potions chamber did not lend well to creeping away without alerting people to your presence. He persisted, rooting through the potions storeroom until his hands clasped round the vial he desired.

As he strode back into the dimly lit room, he saw that Potter had not returned to his work since he left. As he crossed the floor, he could just see a pair of emerald eyes eying him quizzically in the sparse candlelight of the room. He stretched out his hand and, without a word, placed the vial before Potter.

 _There, now I can be left in peace._ Draco told himself as he turned on his heel - well, if peace could be considered scrubbing ruined cauldrons. Which, of course, it couldn't.

"Pepper Up?" Came a voice from the other side of the room. Draco groaned inwardly. Intelligence had never been one of Potter's strongest suits.

"Yes, for your cough" he explained, slowly, as if talking to a small child.

"It's just a cough" Potter replied and Draco rolled his eyes. Ever the martyr.

"It's not for your sake. It's for mine. The sound is positively making my ears bleed." Draco sneered; he was considerably proud of himself for choosing the insult over the other response his brain had offered 'it'll make you feel better'.

Thankfully Potter required little more convincing and uncorked the vial, throwing back the contents. After a beat, his voice came again.

"Thanks, Draco."

Draco froze. It had only happened once or twice before, on the few occasions they had been forced into contact, but Potter's overwhelmingly annoying new habit was clear; calling Draco by his first name. Ever since their meeting over the summer, where Potter had returned had returned his wand and thanked his mother for saving his life, Potter had been appearing to be trying his upmost to be _nice_ to Draco. It was awful. Draco hated it. He hated the way it made him feel, safe and secure. He hated the way it made him feel like Potter was a friend. Not that even Draco's closest friends called him anything but Malfoy – only girls, like Pansy, and his mother ever called him by his first name.

Most of all, Draco hated the way that when Potter called him by his first name, it was even harder to hate him.

He did the sensible thing and ignored Potter completely. Thanks to the potion they fell into silence, the only sound coming from water sloshing and brushes scraping against the stone of the floor and the pewter of the cauldrons. Hours stretched and passed between them like days, the sound of Draco's name on Potter's lips ringing unwanted in his mind. After what seemed like an eternity, the stone of the walls and floor was spotless and most of the equipment had been scrubbed clean. There stood only the professor's teaching cauldron at the top of the room still waiting to be cleaned.

"I'll do it, you get back." Potter said, lifting his bucket and moving over to the cauldron.

Draco wasn't about to allow that. He'd had enough with Potter being nice to him. Calling him by his first name, sparing him from Azkaban, _saving his life_. Draco swallowed at the final memory. He knew it was stupid, equating these thoughts to Potter offering to clean the last cauldron, but he wasn't about to put himself any deeper into Potter's debt.

"No, I will." Draco insisted as he picked up his own bucket and moved over. Aware that he had now given Potter a healing potion and offered to stay longer in detention, Draco knew he needed an excuse. "I'm sure you have a long night left ahead of you, anyway, what with all your fan mail to reply to." He drawled as he lifted a sodden rag from his bucket and leant into the cauldron.

"I don't read it." Potter responded, taking out his own rag and mirroring Draco's actions.

His plan had backfired. Sure, by staying he had rid himself of any extra debt to Potter with the unfortunate side effects of extra reasons to _like_ him. But staying now clearly meant he would have to be close to Potter, close enough to hear his breathing, to smell his scent (he smelt faintly of polished wood, perhaps he'd been taking care of his broom before their detention, Draco wondered), to notice just how green his eyes were without his glasses.

It had been when Draco had first begun to notice things like that that he had begun to seriously doubt his sanity. Now, however, Draco knew his sanity was a long gone.

Just like Potter's glasses.

Draco remembered the first time he saw Potter without his glasses. He had seen him over the longer than usual summer which followed the war; he had seen him when he testified at his trial, when he testified at his mother's trial, when he met with them both, to thank his mother for his life and to return Draco's wand. All of those events had occurred in the month after the war, Potter's glasses still as much of a part of him as his unruly black hair and lightening scar. It had been months until Draco saw Potter again – well, if you didn't count the Prophet's countless photos, which Draco didn't – and the glasses were gone. Draco remembered as if it were yesterday; The Great Hall, crowded as usual for the start of year feast and sorting ceremony. He had caught Potter's eye and for a moment his world had stopped. He was caught off guard by how brightly Potter's emerald eyes seemed to shine without his glasses, how his gaze seemed to have more power without a pane of glass to shield them. Draco had stared, for a long moment, wondering why he suddenly felt as if his heart would beat right out of his chest. But then, the memory had washed over him.

 _Draco was climbing, scrambling and clawing at anything his hands could reach. His fingers wrapped around chair legs, his feet finding a desk to push against, pulling himself higher with each desperate reach. His body numbly obeyed his mind with only one desire; safety. He had to reach the top. As he climbed he took a moment to look behind and instantly wished he hadn't;_

 _as he looked down he saw Crabbe, falling back into the flames, still clutching the table leg which had betrayed him. His screams rung in Draco's ears but he had no time to process the loss as the flames below burned at his feet, urging him forward._

 _Suddenly, he felt the chair he was standing on shift and fall to the hungry flames. His body reacted instantly, reaching up and grabbing onto the edge of a desk which was now the top of the pile. He gripped on with all his strength, his palms slipping from the sweat that coated them; a mixture of fear and the heat of the fire. His feet dangled dangerously and his face was damp, not just from sweat but from tears as he sobbed openly, knowing that this would be how it would end._

 _But then – a flash of light. A flash of something… no, more of a reflection – a reflection of his own face, pale and drawn in a pair of glasses._

 _Potter's glasses._

 _Potter was here._

 _Potter would save him._

 _Potter swooped above him, the broom he rode bucking dangerously, obviously frightened of the roaring flames. Now he took in more of Potter's face and saw the desperation as he urged the broom downward, a hand flying out toward Draco._

 _Draco threw his hand up in return, hanging onto the desk with just one arm. They missed each other completely and Draco clawed for the desk as Potter turned the broom. Once again he swept in, this time missing Draco's grasp by less than an inch, their fingertips brushing together. Draco had no time to notice the way the desk he clung to was now swaying dangerously as the furniture beneath it succumbed to the flames, he only noticed Potter and the way he knew he would save him. On their third attempt their palms connected. The grasp was slippery and loose yet somehow firm and assuring. Potter hauled him up onto his broom and, unashamed, Draco threw his arms around his waist, clinging to life, clinging to Potter._

 _They soared from the room, leaving the flames far behind and Draco buried his head into Potter's back, not wanting to see the fire, not wanting to imagine Crabbe's body in the flames. Soon the door was in sight and Potter urged the broom through with such a force they hurtled to the ground, crashing off the broom and thumping onto the floor. Draco turned his head to the side as they collided with the hard stone and found himself staring straight into Potter's face. Behind his glasses his eyes were closed, clearly winded from the fall. Draco paused, only for a moment, once again seeing his reflection in those glasses. Seeing the man behind them who had saved him._

 _Draco scurried to his feet and did the only thing he could; he ran._

"What?" Asked a voice, breaking Draco from his memory.

"What?" Draco repeated mindlessly, snapping from his thoughts and lifting his gaze to Potter's. Potter returned his gaze, his eyes clouded with confusion.

"You asked me why I got rid of my glasses.." He responded, slowly, watching Draco with caution.

 _Shit._ So lost in his thoughts, Draco hadn't even realised he'd spoken and now, so close to Potter and those damn eyes, aware he'd been caught out, had no time to think of a lie.

"I liked them… They – they were the first thing I saw. I saw my reflection in them that night and I knew it was you." Draco's voice was nothing more than a whisper but it didn't need to be, his voice echoed against the empty stone walls as if they were absorbing his secret. He snapped his gaze down, not wanting to see the way he was sure Potter would look at him, like he was crazy; he probably was.

"Well… It's much easier without them. I can see really well." Potter replied after clearing his throat, clearly determined to brush past the memory Draco's admission had no doubt inspired. They scrubbed for a moment in silence, Draco rubbing so hard he was sure his knuckles would bleed with the force, as if the cauldron was his soul and he could purge it of the past.

"I can see you." Potter continued, his own voice now also a whisper. The words alone could be taken literally, but the tone of his voice carried so much more, implying Potter saw Draco on a much deeper level than visually.

"What do you see?" Draco found himself asking before he was aware he'd even opened his lips as he lifted his gaze, finding himself staring into burning emerald eyes, intense and bright.

"I see that you've changed. You didn't ask for what happened to you. You didn't want it." His eyes never left Draco's as he addressed him, holding Draco transfixed. "I see that I was right to save you."

Draco shivered and he didn't even bother to lie to himself; it wasn't the chill of the room, it was Potter's words.

"I'd do it again."

Both were now standing completely still. Their rags lay forgotten in the bottom of the cauldron and their eyes bore into one another, grey meeting green, intensity meeting… something unspoken.

"You already did… You saved me twice. From the fire. From Azkaban." Draco breathed. Maybe, if he got this over with, if he admitted his gratitude to Potter he would be free of his debt and he could go back to hating Potter.

"I didn't save your life to let you rot away in that place." Potter growled and the intensity of his tone almost made Draco gasp. The passion, the _protection_ he spoke with…

Draco was definitely lying to himself. He'd never go back to hating Potter.

In fact, his emotions toward Potter were now _very_ different.

"Potter, I-"

"Call me Harry."

Draco shuddered and as he spoke again, Harry's name was nothing more than a breath that escaped his lips.

" _Harry_."

But he didn't finish what he was going to say. Draco didn't even know what he had been going to say. All he knew that his face was now inches from Harry's.

Then Draco stopped knowing, stopped thinking. He was only feeling.

Feeling Harry's lips against his, chapped from the way he constantly nibbled as he concentrated in classes, rough and firm and unlike anything Draco had felt before.

 _I'd do it again._

Harry's words echoed in his mind and he knew then that he was saving him again. Saving him in a way Draco hadn't realised he'd needed to be saved. He was alive, he'd survived the war and escaped Azkaban. He was alive and he was safe. Physically alive, physically safe. But mentally, he was neither safe nor alive. He was numb, going through the motions of living without feeling. Until now he hadn't realised there had been something missing; he hadn't realised he'd needed saving.

But if he had realised, he would have probably known that Potter would be the one to save him.

His lips moved back in sync against Harry's, the contact lighting a fire deep inside him, making him _feel_. He never wanted the feeling to end and before he knew it his hands were looped around Harry's waist, holding him with the same desperation as he had when he'd rescued him from the flames. Harry's tongue slipped from between his lips and traced Draco's forcefully, not asking for but demanding entrance to his mouth. He willingly obliged, parting his lips and meeting his tongue.

All too soon their lips broke. Both were panting heavily and a shaky breath escaped Harry's lips.

" _Draco_ …"

A growl vibrated deep in Draco's throat at the sound of his name. No longer did he wish Harry to stop, but to _never_ stop, to say nothing but his name for the rest of his life. The moments pause allowed thoughts to flood Draco's mind; thoughts of what they were doing, of how he was feeling, of how he suddenly needed Potter. The thoughts were terrifying and Draco refused to acknowledge them, seeking Harry's lips once again to cast them away and do nothing but feel.

Harry's lips were more than willing and this time it was Draco sliding his tongue through to meet Harry's, Draco seeking dominance as he knew what he needed. Once again Harry broke the kiss but this time his lips continued to move; across Draco's jaw and up to his ear, nipping the lobe between his teeth before slipping down to lick and tease the patch of skin below.

The moan that shuddered from Draco's lips would have embarrassed him if was still aware of anything but Harry's mouth and the way his lips burned against his skin. His hands ran up from Harry's waist and buried themselves into the heap of messy black hair, holding Harry's head in place. Needing to be sure their bodies didn't part now Draco wasn't holding Harry against him Draco bucked forwards, his hips crashing against Harry's. As their bodies connected Draco wasn't sure what came first; the feeling of Harry's hard bulge against his leg or the gasp which vibrated against his neck. He reached down to swallow the gasp with his lips, kissing Harry hard as he pushed again, stronger and more persistent as they stumbled backward until they hit the wall. Draco took the opportunity to press his entire body against Harry's, letting Harry know that he was just as hard as he ground their hips together. He pulled his lips from Harry's and mirrored the kisses he'd just received, getting a thrill from the rough feeling of Potter's stubble under his lips as he traced his jaw and dropped to his neck.

"Draco…" Harry breathed again, urging Draco's lips to move faster. Apparently, that wasn't what Harry had desired as when he repeated Draco's name for a second him he lifted his hands to push against Draco's chest.

The push was weak and limp but it send Draco flying back as if Potter had consumed a strength potion. In that moment Draco's thoughts became clear. He didn't think about the fact that he was achingly hard for another man, or that he'd never felt desire like it before. He didn't think about the fact that they were in a potions classroom into which their professor could return at any moment to check their progress. He only thought about Harry; questions of how, why and when would have to wait but he knew – he needed Potter like he needed air.

"Don't stop…" Draco pleaded, throwing caution to the wind and baring himself to Harry. He believed him when he said he could see him, so he may as well show it all, including the part of himself he'd only just discovered. "Harry…"

Before Draco knew it Harry had gripped his shoulders and spun them around, backing Draco to the wall with and pressing flush against him. All conscious thought melted away once again. He'd never realised something could feel like this; every inch of his skin seemed alert to Harry's slightest touch, needing to feel him everywhere. He'd had kisses before and they had been nice – but this wasn't _nice._ This was so much more. This was life.

They moved together, exchanging kisses and moans and touches. Although it was the best feeling Draco had ever known it wasn't enough; he needed more. His fingers fumbled upwards, seeking the clasp of Harry's robes and popping them open, pushing them back over his shoulders and allowing them to drop to the floor. Harry mirrored his actions, freeing Draco from his own robes and, without wasting a moment, attacking the buttons of his shirt. Soon it was hanging open and Potter's hands were sliding across his bare chest. The lips that had been mapping his neck also dipped lower, trailing his now exposed collar bone. Draco moaned and rolled his hips forward, satisfying himself with the hardness he felt against his own.

They thrust together, stopping only for a moment as Draco tugged Harry's jumper over his head to allow their naked chests to press together. As the continued to buck and rock together, their movements were inexpert at best and downright clumsy at worst but were somehow causing desire to build within Draco with more force than he had ever felt before. Before he had even realised he was close he was aware of his pleasure reaching its peak, his hardness throbbing as he came and called out, his moans captured between Harry's lips. Before Draco completely fell from his high he felt Harry stiffen against him and knew that his peak was close; he boldly pushed his hand down between their bodies and grabbed the thick, heavy bulge of Harry's trousers and rubbed against the material as if he were rubbing himself. After only a few strokes Harry bit down on Draco's neck so hard he was sure it would mark, but he didn't care.

As Harry stilled against him he allowed himself to enjoy the moment, his nose buried in the mass of hair attached to the face which was buried in his neck. The moment, however, was ruined by unsettling sticky feeling swamping Draco's pants. He reached into his trouser pocket and removed his wand – of course, the detention meant he couldn't use magic to clean, but he didn't think that extended to him. He murmured softly and felt a warm tingle as his pants magically dried and extended the favour to Harry.

A chuckle vibrated against his neck. "That's a good one."

"I do have my uses," Draco responded, smirking softly. He could already picture his expression, very much that of a sneeker who got the snitch.

A moment of silence stretched between them, not awkward, but surprisingly comfortable as they held each other. Draco found himself breaking the silence before he'd even registered what he was going to say.

"I see you, too."

Harry lifted his head from Draco's neck, seeking out his gaze. The moment their eyes connected, Harry responded "You do?" He asked.

Draco nodded softly, his hand moving from Harry's hair and down across his shoulder. "I do… I saw you the moment you saved me…" Although Draco hadn't yet worked out the full extent of his thoughts for himself, he knew he had to share them. "I've not been able to stop seeing you since." He admitted.

"That makes two of us…" Harry whispered in response and a feeling uncurled itself deep in Draco's stomach. Something he'd never felt before; it started slowly and built until it filled every inch of him…

Hope.

Draco had never allowed himself to hope; it was a weak emotion. Strength came from certainty.

But now, Draco realised, things were different.

Harry saw him – really saw him - and that was all the strength he needed.

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 **Thanks for reading. :)**


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